


Happy Birthday, Neighbour

by uglywombat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, Porn, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, james bucky barnes - Freeform, sam wilson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 20:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19471582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglywombat/pseuds/uglywombat
Summary: Steve Rogers has retired to the Brooklyn ‘burbs. He’s your knight in shining armour. An invitation to his annual Independence Day barbeque gets hot and heavy when jealousy rears its ugly head.





	Happy Birthday, Neighbour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freudiansoul](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=freudiansoul).



> This was a request from @freudiansoul on Tumblr for "just pure porn" for Steve Rogers and Independence Day. 
> 
> There's no plot. It's filthy porn.

You promised yourself you were only going to stay an hour before you would crawl back home and try and complete your project, or at least make some headway. You probably shouldn’t even be going, you’re so far behind thanks to the myriad of technical fuck-ups by the interns.

However, it would be rude to pass up an invitation from Captain America himself. Steve had moved into the townhouse next to you sixteen months ago, and honestly, he was a Godsend. Your landlord is an asshole who leaves you high and dry when the water or plumbing would leave you tearing your hair out.

But Steve would come at the drop of a dime for you. He is sweet, charming and deliciously good looking. Having the retired superhero live next door to you is an absolute perk.

He greets you at the door, your hands full of homemade apple pie, and strawberry and rhubarb slice. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to cook,” he playfully chastises taking the heavy containers from your hands. You don’t fail to see his eyes quickly roam down your bare legs, and you internally high-five for dragging your sorry ass to go to the gym that morning.

“My momma would turn in her grave if she knew I came to your house empty-handed,” you tease lightly, following him down the immaculately designed hallway, the walls adorned with Steve’s own art.

The party is buzzing as you step out into the small backyard. Like the rest of the house, the grass is immaculately mowed and the flowers blooming. Steve has kept his Independence Day theme tasteful with small mason jars of summer flowers on each picnic table, and the red, white and blue kept to a minimum.

Steve offers you a beer before excusing himself to the barbecue where you spy Bucky Barnes flipping burgers, his eyes shaded with his signature wayfarers, his Hawaiian shirt loud and proud. Bucky is the epitome of cool and suave, whereas Steve sometimes dressed like your mid-western uncle no one really spoke to. Steve’s old fashioned taste did not affect the filthy thoughts that plagued your thoughts.

You’d met his Avenger colleagues in passing and at the occasional party. You had a really strong connection with Bucky, both sharing a passion for fashion and baking.

You mingle with some of your more friendly neighbours, enjoying a couple of drinks before you get tied up in a deep conversation with Bucky over the latest episode of _The Great British Bake Off_. Realising your hour was up, you figure another hour wouldn’t hurt.

That extra hour turns into four before a strong pair of hands meet your waist, the familiar deep scent of bergamot and cedar greeting you. You turn to see Sam Wilson casting his eyes down your body. Sam flirty Wilson. “Hey sugar,” his rich, baritone voice is like music to your ears.

As Sam flirts, you can’t help but see Steve stiffen out of the corner of your eye where he stands by the bar, Bucky talking his ear off. He’s watching intently as Sam tries to woo you. You love Sam; he’s gorgeous, funny, and suave, but oh your heart. It longs for Steve.

You shoot Steve a weak smile only to be met with an irked expression. Perhaps it is time you call it a night. You bid Sam goodnight and make your way back into the kitchen, Steve no longer at the bar.

“Sneaking off without saying goodnight?” You jump at the deep voice and turn to see Steve watching you intently, his hands shoved into his khaki pants.

“I was coming to say goodnight,” you promise with a small smile.

“I’m surprised you’re not leaving with Sam.” He sounds hurt and it takes you by surprise. Sure, you’d both flirted a little in the past, but Steve is so old fashioned that sometimes it felt like he was doing it to appease you.

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Green is not cute on you, Steve.”

The smirk and the way he saunters over to you, effectively pinning you to the wall, sends a thrill through to your core. “Really?” His hand comes up to brush your hair, his eyes fixed on yours. “And what would you say does look cute on me?”

You’re at a loss for words. This is a side of Steve you’ve never seen, but you like it. Your inner sub, long dormant, is screaming to be let out.

“Cat got your tongue?” he says inching his face towards yours, his body pressing against yours. Your mind is running a thousand miles an hour, you’re finding it difficult to focus on anything but the hard bulge pressing against you. “That’s a shame because I can think of a few things I’d like to do with that pretty little tongue of yours.”

The mould breaks as you crash your lips to his, clutching at his stupid old-man blue button-up. He probably bought it from Banana Republic or Sears. He pulls away, his large hands encompassing your face, his eyes searing yours.

Before you can say anything, Steve pulls you by your hand into the adjoining laundry and locks the door. Stalking over to you, your heart beating hard and fast against your chest. Where had this Steve been all along?

“Are you going to let me fuck you like the dirty girl you are?” Fuck, his voice is like molasses and every filthy dream you’ve had rolled into one. It was almost painful to hear the filthy words spew from his perfect, apple pie lips. You nod furiously as your back meets the washing machine. Large hands rip open your shirt revealing your lace, see-through bra, your sinfully short shorts tossed over his shoulder. Steve’s eyes are blown with lust as he takes you in. “Did you wear this for me?” he asks, his fingers caressing the pale white lace bralette, your nipples hard and sensitive to his touch.

“I’ve wanted you since you came over to fix my toilet,” you hum, your hands finding his stupid dad belt and undoing the buckle. “You were in your tight workout gear, bent over, everything on display.”

Steve chuckles, slowly pulling down the strap of your bralette, his other hand stilling your hands against his belt. “Did you think about me when you played yourself that night?”

  
You gasp as his fingers meet your wet folds, your favourite lace panties lying ripped on the floor. “You’re the only one I think of when I touch myself.” The feel of his fingers dragging along your lips is pure torture.

“Good girl.” You mewled as his fingers entered you. “God, you’re so wet. Just for me. Or was it Sam that got you all hot bothered?”

You cling to his shoulders as his fingers fuck you, his fingers grazing along that satisfying stretch of tissue that sends flurries of pleasure to your stomach. “Fuck, Steve, you. Only you.”

He chuckles, his teeth skimming the skin of your neck. “Does it make you wet, having to call me to save the day for you?”

His dirty, uncharacteristic musings have you wetter than you have ever been before. “Yes, Steve, even in your stupid dad clothes.”

He stills, his perfect eyebrow arching and you immediately berate yourself. You make to apologise but you’re hushed by the angry crush of his lips against yours, his fingers still deep inside you. “Stupid dad clothes? Do you not like the way I dress?” You chuckle, your hands clinging to his neck as he hoists you up onto the machine and spreads you wide for him. But he doesn’t let you answer. Instead, he removes his fingers from your aching pussy and licks his fingers clean. He then tears your bra from your flesh and stands back. Slowly peeling his clothes off, his eyes hold yours. “You see, I think you like the fact that I dress like a dad. Deep down, you want to be taken care of. That’s why you come to me for help.”

Your eyes hungrily take in his finely sculpted chest, the perfect v lines descending to his pants.

He continues, steadily undoing each button of his pants, “I think that when you touch your perfect little pussy under your sheets, all alone at night, you’re calling me Daddy.”

The moan that escapes your lips clearly strokes his ego. He stands tall and drops his pants, revealing his perfect, thick erect cock. You are speechless. Not only is he perfect but he doesn’t wear underwear. Your fantasies of Christmas boxer shorts shattered.

“I’m going to fuck you hard and fast because I can’t leave you all hot and bothered. My guests would be able to smell the desperation on you.” His hands trail around your neck, before squeezing gently. “And then, when they’re all gone, I’m going to take you to my bed and I’m going to eat that perfect pussy all night long. You’re going to spend the night and in the morning I’m going to make you breakfast in bed. I have one simple thing to ask you, though.”

“What’s that?” you ask breathless, your lungs begging for air.

“You address me as Daddy.” His smile is salacious and eyes dark with lust.

“Yes, Daddy,” you say before pulling him into a heated kiss.

With one thrust he is buried deep inside you. God, he is thick and long and is utter perfection. He fits perfectly in you, just stretching your walls, the resistance offering you the perfect taste of ache. And then he moves and you feel the world collapse around you, legs wrapping around his waist for support.

You fight back the moans threatening to explode from your mouth, his hands gripping the soft flesh of your hips. He hushes you against your ear, the hot air adding little comfort to your battle. “You don’t want people to hear, do you baby?”

Steve knows he’s not helping. His ribald dialogue and commanding grip only spurring on your naturally vocal responses. His lips silence you as he moves his hips, driving his cock along your sensitive walls. His fingers grip your waist, no doubt leaving a trail of delicious reminders that you will carry for days.

His pace is vehement, his lips hungrily divulging filthy promises of a long night along your neck as you bite into his shoulder.

For a man who spent the majority of his life in the ice, Steve knows his way around your body. His fingers expertly tease your clit and you can feel his smirk against your skin in response to the soft, breathy gasps that break free of your lips.

The clipped thrusts of his hips alert you to his impending orgasm. You’ve long wondered what sounds escape his mouth at his point of orgasm. Does he grunt? Groan? Sigh?

“Baby, if you want to orgasm anytime soon you’re going to have to let go and come for me. Otherwise, I will make you wait all night.” And like a good girl you crash headfirst into your orgasm, Steve muffling your heated cry with his hand. He follows quickly behind, the sound of his grunts filling the small laundry, the distant sound of music just audible.

Your post-orgasm haze settles as Steve places soft, adoring kisses on your lips, neck and shoulders, his hands roaming your exposed skin.

“Why the hell haven’t we done this sooner?” Steve’s voice is drunk and laboured, resting his head against your shoulder.

You chuckle, hands exploring the defined counters of his chest. “You know, for a super solider, you’re not very perceptible. I thought my flirting skills were on point.”

Steve smiled before placing a tender kiss to your lips. “Now, it might be my birthday, but I’m a man of my word. And I should make good on my promise, throw these people out of my house and spent the night eating some dessert.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this filth. Happy Independence Day American friends 🎆


End file.
